Blue Light Special 2: Hot Metal Blues
by LilLolaBlue
Summary: They’re back! First Law of Napalmdynamics: Those who try to recreate Harlequin will be destroyed. But Tony Stark regularly does six impossible things before breakfast, despite Pepper's advice. Fasten your seat belts, NYC. It’s going to be a fiery crash.


**BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL 2: HOT METAL BLUES**

**Chapter One: Dirty Pool**

**New York City, 1972, Tony Stark's Penthouse**

**I: Tony**

"Tony Stark, Suuuuper Genius. I like the way it rolls out. Tony Stark, Suuuuper Genius."

Of course, Tony was aware he was quoting Wile E. Coyote, but it seemed appropriate to the situation, as he admired himself in the mirror.

"More like Tony Stark, suuuuper asshole. If you don't mind my saying so, sir." Pepper told him.

But Tony didn't hear her.

He was busy admiring his ass in the mirror.

Then, he turned around, and adjusted his package.

"Mirror mirror on the wall, you don't have to tell me I'm not small."

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"She's seen it. Hell, I only work for you, and I've seen it."

"It's the packaging, Pepper. That's the key. A little…mystery."

"Mystery? In those pants? You're a bad man, Mr. Stark. I mean it. Sometimes I think you have absolutely no redeeming qualities."

"You don't understand, Pepper. I am not a bad man, I am a good man of business. And that's what this is between me and Napalm. It's business."

Pepper raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is that the justification you're using this week to steal your colleague Jon Ostermann's research partner, your lifelong friend Bruce Wayne's stepdaughter from the organization he helped to found?"

"Business is business, Pepper. Whether it's mask business or private enterprise." Tony replied, affixing his cufflinks.

"Really? Then what business is it of yours to steal the Comedian's mistress? Not that I have any great sympathy for the man. But still, it's not enough for you to borrow her. Probably because you're allowed to. No, you have to steal her." Pepper continued.

"Using my own words against me, eh, Potts?"

"Tony, let me join the chorus of voices singing you this song. Once she figures out what you're up to, Liv Napier is going to give you the business."

Of course, Pepper had a point.

But, painting horny, street-smart, incandescently brilliant and cheerfully ruthless Trivelino J. Napier as his innocent victim was a gross exaggeration.

Putting aside their friendship, which was unusually warm and genuine for both of them, and their comradeship, both as masks and scientists, they were each fascinated with each other.

Despite being the daughter of one millionaire and the stepdaughter of another, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune so conspired that Liv had her roots in solidly working-class Brooklyn, and this little flower of Prospect Park was unashamedly and unabashedly a Brooklyn Irish thug, whose immumerable conquests consisted mostly of flocks of willowy NYU hippie types and the various tough, coarse slab-like denizens of the dive bars, all-nite diners, and other such hangouts that she frequented.

Tony was her first, as she put it, high class piece, as she marvelled to her friend Laurie that a little Mick mutt like her had the opportunity to wallow in a man who was "like a cross between Errol Flynn and Sean Connery."

Then, there was that spirit of sexual one-upsmanship between two bedroom Musketeers, the never-ending competition to win the title Dirtiest of Them All.

Napalm definitely used his fascination with her down and dirtiness, promising him she'd get a new tattoo just for him in a place he'd love to lick, and cursing him in bed, calling him a dirty bastard and a no-good son of a bitch, so, was it really dirty pool to turn the tables on her?

Well, yes it was, because Napalm was the one woman he ever met who expected nothing of him and wanted nothing from him other than his friendship, his intellect, and his skill as a cocksman.

What's that, brain?

_It's guilt, Tony._

Guilt? Why?

_Because she's the only woman in your life besides Pepper who likes you for you, and you're trying to play her like a fiddle._

Oh.

Well, it's for her own good.

The Avengers are Earth's Mightiest Heroes, I hold the copyright on that, all rights reserved, thank you, and Stark Industries has a lot more to offer her that the staid, reactionary federal government.

So it was that Tony lay in wait.

Then, the opportunity.

A super secret high security S.H.I.E.L.D mission that required the skills of Col. James L. Howlett and Col. Edward M. Blake, and would keep them out of the country for a fell month.

Thereby depriving Little Miss Napalm of her two main sources of nooky.

She would, of course, be forced to hit the streets looking for action, as she had in leaner years, but, without oceans of booze to calm her dissatisfaction, and having become used to fine, high-quality, steady superhero shagging, two full weeks into said assignment, she had to be approaching dangerous heights of ravenous desperation.

Which, of course was where her friend and thrice weekly lunch partner, Tony Stark, would saunter into Grossmann's Delicatessen, in the twilight hours of a Thursday, her night off, when her animal lusts would not have been sated partially by the actuality or the threat of ultraviolence, in the outfit which he had so carefully planned.

"Pepper, tell me the truth. If you didn't work for me, and you didn't know me, so you had absolutely no idea what a dick I am, and you saw me walking down the street in this suit, would you become incredibly aroused?"

Pepper got up, slammed her clipboard down on his desk, opened the door, walked out, and slammed it behind her.

"I will take that as a yes."

***

Of course Tony Stark possessed a silver-grey Aston Martin DB5, just like James Bond, and of course that was his car of choice for his errand of no mercy.

As he drove downtown he almost caused several ladies to have car accidents, and when he parked his car and got out, dressed in a perfectly tailored three-button navy blue and chalk white pinstriped Mod-style suit, sporting a powder blue Fred Perry shirt with chalk-white French collar and cuffs, jacket fashionably unbuttoned to reveal that said pants, accessorised with a slim, black Italian leather belt and matching Cuban-heeled Chelsea boots, appeared to be painted onto his body, a sweet young thing carrying a bag of groceries down Fifth Avenue dropped them right in the street.

Of course, Tony helped her pick them up, and as he handed her back her groceries, she almost fainted dead away.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, set them up and watch them fall.

Tony breezed into Grossmann's, his chest piece glowing bluish to match his shirt.

It was packed in with the usual crowd of masks and regulars, among them, Napalm at her usual table, where she sat holding court with her friends, Skinny Donazio, Big Benny Grossmann and Crazy Paulie Blake.

She did not appear to be in any kind of dire straits, indeed.

She saw him, waved, and turned back to her friends.

What?

I almost cause a ten car pileup and women are fainting at the sight of me, and I get a wave out of Liv?

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no, I am Iron Man, I will not stand for this.

_Tony, I think Pepper was…_

Shut up, brain.

"Liv? Oh, Napalm? I was wondering if you were free." Tony called.

"I'm busy, chief."

"Well, I will be too, if you can't break away from Paulie for a second." Tony huffed, haughtily.  
He didn't really notice that she looked annoyed.

"Fuck! Scuse me, guys. I hafta teach Mr. Stark another object lesson in feminism." She said.

Nor did Tony notice that Skinny quietly got up and went to the men's room, or that Benny and Paulie, 6'3 or 4 and 6'8 or 9, respectively, started trying to make themselves as small and inconspicuous as possible.

"He's a dead man." Paulie said.

"He should know better, by now." Benny agreed.

Meanwhile, Napalm got up from her table and walked over to him.

She looked him up, and down, and God damned if even in her obvious desperation she didn't manage to leer at him in a crudely objectifying fashion.

"You're a bad man, Tony!"

So says Captain America, who would never do a thing like this to a woman.

"I know what you're up to, Tony. So let's just skip it before I get really mad, okay? Because it's in-fucking-sulting." Liv said.

"Up to? Me?"

"Yeah, you. You figured you'd wait until I was sweatin' it good with Logan and Eddie both being out of town, and then swan in dressed in cool Mod drag, with your pants so tight anybody can tell you ain't Jewish, and I'd be so desperate and horny and dazzled by what a fine, hot, high-class piece of silver-spoon Park Avenue ass you are that you could just twist me all around your little finger, huh? That's dirty pool, Tony."

Ooops.

Brain.

_Yes, I know. _

_ You forgot that she is as smart as you are._

_ Improvise._

He grinned at her.

"It's your move, Naplam."

"Are you challenging me? Even though you know that I know exactly what you're up to?"

"Certainly, I am. I bet you I'll have you twisted around my little finger by morning, regardless." Tony crowed.

"Oh yeah?"

"You bet your desperate ass."

Liv laughed, sarcastically.

_I just want you to know that it is a very, very bad thing that her laughing like the Joker at the Manson Family picnic makes you hot._

"Desperate? Who's desperate? I get more ass than a toilet seat at the Garden. Go home, Tony. I'll seeya for lunch, tomorrow. Then, we can make plans." She said.

"That's his last warning." Benny commented.

"Yeah." Paulie agreed.

From the table directly behind them, Cap swallowed a laugh as his dinner companion, Clark Kent, began to choke on his Coke.

"Yes, but of what quality?" Tony continued.

"Quality? Quality, schmolity. I get paid, I get laid, I got it made, you know?"

This was not a fashion in which The Great And Powerful Tony Stark was used to being treated.

He got on his High Horse.

"You know, Napalm, I went to all this effort for you, which is more than I can say for some hardat, or sailor, or small time-hood or groupie you might pick up at three in the morning after you and Paulie and Benny spend all night talking about Led Zeppelin, Star Trek, and mask gossip. Don't you think you owe me a little more than bye bye, see you tomorrow?"

The look on her face let Tony know that he had screwed the pooch.

"Hey, Paulie, y'wanna work t'night, doin' deliveries?" Benny asked.

"Sure. Let's go, uh, check the stock." Paulie replied.

They made themselves scarce.

Tony looked back at Napalm.

Oh shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

"You chauvinistic son of bitch! Why don't you do me a great big favour, and go peddle your ass elsewhere! You're embarrassing yourself! You know what you look like in that get-up? A very expensive call boy. A fine, hot piece of Park Avenue ass that anybody who has a couple C-notes can rent by the hour. Sports car included. Hey, I never had to pay for it in my life, and I won't start now!" she yelled.

Liv went to return to her table, Tony grabbed her arm, and yelled back.

"Just who the fuck do you think you are, and just who the fuck do you think I…"

From the door of the men's bathroom, Skinny peered out a crack, and Paulie, who was, after all, crazy, was on his way out from the kitchen to rush to Liv's aid, but as it turned out, he wasn't needed.

Tony was unable to complete that thought, as he felt a vice gripping his wrist, causing stars to swim before his eyes.

His face went fish-belly white, and his chest piece flashed brightly at the throb of excruciating pain.

It was only through sheer will, and a convenient chair to grab hold of with his other hand that Tony's legs didn't buckle from the agony.

Clark was only holding his wrist between two fingers, and he wasn't squeezing very hard, but, then again, he didn't have to.

"I know exactly who you are, buddy! You're a big, loud, rude, self-important jerk who's bothering this nice young girl trying to eat dinner with her friends. And I think I heard the lady tell you to get lost."

"Geez, Clark, I think you're hurting him." Liv protested.

Clark Kent did not look like a happy man.

"Liv, I know I'm hurting him. Go sit at your table. Come on, Mr. Stark. You and I are going to go outside and have a little talk. Steve?"

"Right behind you, Clark."

_I think things are going wrong for us, Tony._

Not now, brain.

Thankfully, Superman let go of his arm, but Tony did not feel at all free to go.

"Now you listen to me, mister! Just because I don't get drunk and chase women and use the f-word and I'm from Kansas, it doesn't mean I'm some kind of rube. Trivelino is not a piece of real estate you can buy, or a franchise you can option, she's a human being, and she's my trainee, and she's only been out of rehab and on her feet for a year! Just what kind of sick, screwed-up mind game are you trying to play, here? You are supposed to be her friend. Part of her support system! Just what the…well, what the hell are you doing" Superman insisted.

Clark swore?!

Oh, fuck.

Tony looked to his best friend for support.

"Don't look at me, Tony. I know you're up to no good. And for you to wait until half of Liv's support system, and then blitzkrieg her? As Eddie would tell you if he was here, that's lower than whale shit." Steve reproached him.

_Mother of mercy, this is the end of Little Rico._

Just then, Napalm came out the front door.

To save him.

"I am lower than whale shit." Tony commented.

She put herself right in front of him, in a defensive stance.

"Hey, guys, I appreciate you lookin' after me, but you know how me an' Tony are. It's all "Oh Yeah? Yeah!" with us. Maybe he went a little too far, maybe I lost my temper, but it's not like the man has some diabolical and unexplained obsession with me. He just isn't too hip on the whole feminism trip. But he's learning. Pepper and I are working on it C'mon, Tony, it's my night off. Take me someplace."

Napalm latched onto his arm.

"Liv…"

"Really, Clark, it's okay. It's like Tony says, I don't need to be in some bar at three in the morning, talkin' up some oaf I don't know and half can't stand. That's a good way for me to blow my semi-sobriety. Me an' Tony, we gotta keep each other on the wagon, ya know."

"See? No harm, no foul." Tony finally protested.

Superman gave him a very dirty look

"Sure. I've got my eye on you, mister. And so does Bruce. I hope you realise what a good friend you have here in our Trivelino. You watch your step. I'll be back in the restaurant, Steve. And you don't have to save Mr. Stark, Liv. He's a grown man. Let him figure it out."

Clark adjusted his glasses and went back into the deli.

"Well, that was a near miss." Tony joked to Steve.

Steve scowled at him.

"You're not funny, Tony. And it's not cute. And Clark's right." Steve told him.

He went back into the deli, too.

Tony sat down on the curb, holding his wrist and flexing his hand.

Nothing was broken, but he was gong to have am unsightly bruise.

"You wanna coupla Excedrin? I got some Tylenols, too." Liv asked, sitting down next to him.

"No. I'm alright. Well, I guess Pepper was right, again. Do I owe you an apology, Napalm?"

"Don't bother."

"Why?"

"Because you're not sorry. Yet."

A smile tugged the corners of Tony's mouth.

"Is that a threat of reprisal?"

"You bet. So, am I going home with you, or what?"

***

No sooner did the door of his penthouse close behind them, than did Liv tear into Tony, with all the violence of a knock-down, drag-out street brawl, minus the pain, blood, and punching.

She pinned him to the wall, roughly pulled off his jacket and tore his expensive shirt in two, pressing her body against his with rude and confident animal urgency.

"Liv-"

"Shut up!" she growled, undoing his belt and unbuckling his fly with one hand.

He hadn't worn any underwear.

She laughed, and, still holding him against the wall with her hips, she peeled off her shirt and her undershirt.

Her nipples looked swollen and hot, and she made a hissing, mewling kind of noise as his Tony rubbed the pads of his thumbs across them.

It was all he had time to do, before, swearing coarsely in guttural grunts, Liv unzipped her jeans and pushed them and her boxers around her ankles, and stepped out of them.

She let him get his shoulders free, and Tony was about to take off his pants when Liv unexpectedly gave him a sharp shove and he ended up on the floor.

That, of course was her intention, because she was on top of him almost as soon as he was on the ground using her tattooed, practised hand to guide his cock, which was more enthusiastic about what was going on than the rest of him, right into her pussy.

"Liv…"

"I told you to shut up!"

Oh, but the deepest pits of the darkest depths of firey hell were not as hot as she was, moving slowly up and down the length of his cock, slowly and then faster and harder, keening and grunting, her head thrown back, her hair falling all over him.

He put his hands on her heaving, bouncing tits, squeezing and stroking them, pushed himself up on his elbows so he could suck and lick her lovely pouty nipples while she rode him into the carpet.

Tony felt his own excitement building, he was getting close, very close, moving with her as she came, creaming all over his balls and then…

And then she got up off him, abruptly, and put on her pants.

"What? What the fuck are you doing?" Tony insisted.

Liv reached into her pocket, and tossed a crumpled wad of bills in his general direction as he put her undershirt and shirt back on.

She slipped her feet back into her Keds and purposefully dropped two quarters onto his chest, bouncing them off his brilliantly glowing chest piece.

"There's your tip. You're pretty good. Next time I call, I'll ask for youse, again."

She took the two steps to the door, opened it, winked at him, and left.

Of course, she's not really leaving.

Of course, she's coming back.

But she wasn't.

She actually left him lying there on the floor, with his shirt in tatters around his waist, his pants open and his dick at attention, blue-balled and astonished, with two quarters stuck in his chest hair and a crumpled up one and a five on the floor beside him.

"Well, I suppose I deserved that."

***

A half-hour later, the phone rang.

Now dressed in his bathrobe, after a long, cold shower, Tony answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Smart Guy. How's your fuckin' evening going? You sorry now?"

He could hear voices and music and glasses clinking in the background.

"I'm very, very, very sorry, I'm serious, Naplam. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mud."

She laughed.

"Yeah, well, Mr. Suuuuuper Genius, Mud spelled backwards is dum. Okay. I believe you."

Abruptly, she hung up, and Tony was still looking at the phone when there was a knock on his door.

He answered it, and there she was.

"You didn't leave?"

"Kinda. I went and hadda beer at the restaurant on the ground floor. Fancy joint. They overcharged me. I put it on your tab. You know, that hurt me almost as much as it hurt you. I was planning on holdin your arms at your sides an' not lettin' you touch me at all, but I just couldn't do it. Hell, I don't know how I mustered up the will to get up off youse and get dressed and leave. I had a beer and a double shot in the bar, and my hands are still shakin'. See?"

"I see."

"C'mon, don't be fuckin' sore about it! I'll make it up to youse."

Now she had grabbed him by the hand, and she was leading him off to the bedroom.

Tell her, no, Tony.

I can't, brain. She's got me dead to rights.

"You know, what, Napalm. I really am a slut. And a whore. And a drunk."

"Yeah, me too. So, let's go wallow in our own depravity."

"Oooo, that sounds like fun! And I still have one drink coming, today. Let me get the Scotch."

***

"How did your enchanted evening go?"

Tony looked up from his desk, pretending to not understand the question.

But, Pepper and her clipboard and that smirk were not going away.

"Oh, I got beaten up by Superman, and quasi-raped by the Harlequin. You were right. Again."

Pepper sat down in the chair across from his desk.

"What did she do to you? Are you…bleeding from somewhere? Listen, Tony, we'll go to the hospital. You don't have to be ashamed. It wasn't your fault, and it doesn't make you less of a man."

Tony looked at Pepper for a long moment.

"My God, Potts, it wasn't as bad as all that! She didn't insert any foreign objects into my body the hard way."

Tony explained to Pepper what happened.

When he got to the part about the fifty cents, she laughed, a little bit.

He didn't give her specifics as to the rest of the evening, but she got the general idea.

"Well, if it was me, I wouldn't have come back."

Tony raised an eyebrow, and grinned.

"You know, Miss Potts, I never pegged, if you'll pardon the pun, you for the rape fantasy type. Especially not on the business end. I know I haven't always been the best boss, but what did I ever do to you that you seem to so relish the idea of my being beaten, humiliated, mercilessly teased and horribly violated? That's very…kinky. I'm surprised you go for that sort of thing."

Pepper blushed to the red roots of her hair.

"Mr. Stark! I do not "go" for anything like that!"

"Well, it's always the nice girls."

She stood up, abruptly.

"I am not going to discuss my sexual preferences with you! And, as for very kinky, you son't seem to be too traumatised at being treated that way."

"Well, I didn't like the being left high and dry part, but the whole shut up and take it like a man thing, and the throwing money at me part, well, it wasn't too bad. Not that I'd want to do it again, but you know what they say, Potts. Once a philosopher, twice a pervert."

"Mr. Stark, you are a pervert more than once over!"

Pepper stalked out of his office, again,

Tony swivelled around in his chair to face the world through his window, high above, well, just about everything.

"I really am a horrible man." he said, to no one in particular.


End file.
